


Sundays

by pretense



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretense/pseuds/pretense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An impromptu visit was so America. And it's not like he wasn't always welcome at England's, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sundays

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia is already in good hands. :D
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5117372/1/Sundays).

It was an early Sunday morning and not a soul moved inside the rather old house. It was quite empty really, save for two individuals.

Loud snores filled up the otherwise noiseless room. Bright patches of sunlight streamed in from the wide glass windows, falling on the carpeted floors and even reaching the canopy bed. Despite this, a sandy-blonde Englishman remained in deep slumber, cocooned within the thick olive-green covers.

A small smile settled on a pair of pinkish lips as bright blue eyes softened at the sight.

The sleeping man suddenly grumbled, muttering imprecise words under his breath, turning in the sheets until he was lying on his right side; unknowingly fully facing his watcher.

America crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward, resting one elbow on his folded leg and cradling his face in his palm. He was sitting on a cushioned armchair, directly beside the older nation's bed. The easy-going expression on the blonde man's face lightening as his previous colonizer burrowed further into the olive blankets; England's mien turning care-free.

He loved watching England sleep. It was a fact. But America was way too full of himself to admit that out loud. Besides, England would undoubtedly murder him if he even spoke a word of it. So the ash blonde nation kept silent, a content smile on his lips as he watched the older man get comfortable in his sleep.

The blue-eyed nation hummed a quiet tune, a melody that he was sure he'd heard from England before, when he was still a young colony. America wasn't quite sure where he picked up this little, well,  _fetish_ , of his… The blonde man cocked his head to the side, thinking, what exactly he liked about gazing over the green-eyed nation as he slept.

Well, aside from not being at his throat, sleeping-England looked more lax compared to when he was out and about. Arthur's infamous eyebrows were arched in a peaceful manner, very much unlike their furrowed disposition at every World Summit Meeting. His lips were curved the slightest bit upwards, not a sign of a frown upon him. And he wasn't slurring any profanities either, as was the Briton's custom whenever he had a tad too much to drink. And had he mentioned that it was somewhat hilarious hearing the once-pirate nation snoring? Well, it definitely was, plus Arthur was just too cute to look at whenever his face reflected some of his delightful dreams. He would smile and sometimes even utter a laugh or two. And once (or was it twice already?) America was quite sure that he'd heard his name pass through the green-eyed man's lips.

Yes, America thought, he definitely liked England when he was asleep.

Suddenly, the snoring stopped and the hazy blue eyes returned with a sharp edge, focusing automatically on the moving figure tangled within the sheets. America found himself straightening up in his seat, leaning back against the back rest of the armchair. Now comes the exciting part…

Arthur Kirkland felt drowsiness slowly drift away from him, allowing him to peacefully adjust to his surroundings. His blankets were soft and it felt warm to him; very comforting, really. He had half a mind to just will himself back to sleep but there was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. Forest green eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the brightness of his bedroom, in the hazy hues of colors, the Englishman realized that something seemed to be off. Blinking, England found his blurry surroundings focusing. He blinked once, twice and he saw America sitting in an armchair beside his bed.

The olive green covers were hitched up to the Briton's neck as England's face contorted into a deep frown, the dull flush on his cheeks notwithstanding. "What the bloody hell are you doing in my bedroom, America?" the older nation demanded, his voice raspy and his fists clutching the bed sheets tightly.

"Mornin' Arthur!" the blue-eyed man greeted jovially.

"Why – Are – You – In – Here?" England breathed out harshly, thick brows furrowing.

His previous colony blinked, his smile faltering before returning full force. "Visiting you of course! It's been quite a while since I came by…"

"I was at your place just two days ago!" the Englishman spat.

"Well, that didn't count," America told the older nation matter-of-factly. "You just came there because our bosses had a meeting. You didn't exactly come to see me…"

England huffed; there was simply no way of winning an argument against that hamburger-crazed man. "Well, whatever. What are you doing in my bedroom then? No scratch that, how the hell did you even get into my house?"

"Spare key," was the blue-eyed nation's simple reply.

"Spare… key…" the incredulous look on the Briton's face only served to widen the grin on America's face.

"Uh-huh," Alfred nodded, "I had one made some time ago… First time it's been useful, really, else I would've been standing at your porch for an hour and a half…"

Putting two and two together, the sandy-blonde man shouted out incredulously. "You've been watching me sleep for an hour and a half?" England's face turned redder.

"Well, yeah…" the younger nation replied with a one-shoulder shrug."It would've been rude of me to wake you up…"

The almost-tomato-red face met a palm. "So you opted to watch me sleep…" Arthur muttered against his hand. Honestly, America's logic can be quite… illogical, sometimes.

A pinkish tinge settled on the blue-eyed nation's cheeks. "Something like that… yeah."

Shaking his head and wondering inwardly where he'd gone wrong in raising the other country, England finally relented his hold on the bedcovers, at the same time muttering something that sounded like 'bollocks' under his breath. The Englishman got off the right side of the bed, such that he was standing mere centimeters in front of the younger one. It somewhat irked him to find that even when sitting, the top of Alfred's head already leveled with his chest. However, when the said American raised his head to look  _up_  at him, with the usual handsome grin on the boyish face, Arthur couldn't quite pinpoint the reason why his cheeks felt warmer.

"Well?" the Briton asked keeping an irritated air, crossing his arms over his chest for good measure. His shadow loomed over his previous protégé.

"Well what?" Alfred replied in cheek, his blue eyes bright beneath his glasses. No doubt unfazed by the underlying threat in the older nation's words.

" _What the hell are you doing here_?" forest green eyes narrowed, widened by a fraction at a sudden realization and then narrowed even further. "And  _who_ gave you the  _fucking permission_  to move _my bloody furniture_?"

"Well, you couldn't just expect me to keep  _standing_ while waiting for you to wake up," America replied testily. "So I just brought over this chair from your desk over there and sat on it. Honestly, would you rather have me crawl into your bed and watch you?"

Too late did the ash-blonde nation realize the implication of his words. The young country gaped for a moment, his cheeks turning red, before sputtering, "I – Well, tha–that didn't come out right… Ahaha…" His shaky laughs were blatantly ineffective in easing the situation.

England's face grew steadily redder as he marched past the seated man, making a beeline to his bedroom door and jerking it open. "OUT!" he screamed and America knew that the thick-browed man was in no way kidding. So the bespectacled nation immediately got up and ran out the door, stopping just as he reached the hallway. He turned around to face the Briton, attempting to explain but he found the door being slammed in his face.

The gust of air that breezed past the American was strong enough to ruffle his usually well-kept hair; it even left his eyeglasses lopsided in front of his wide blue eyes. "H-Hey England?" America called, making quite sure that his voice was loud enough to be heard on the other side. "I didn't mean it  _that way_!

No response.

"I–!" Alfred tried to start but realized half-way that he didn't exactly know how to apologize for it. So he just ran a hand though his ash blonde locks, putting them back in place, re-adjusting his glasses and breathing out crossly. "Oh fuck it…"

Sighing in dejection, the blue-eyed man crossed the hall and descended the staircase at the end. The American soon found himself at the base of the stairs, gazing disinterestedly at the stuffy-looking sitting room, one hand still grasping the stair's wooden handrail. His lips formed a small frown as a heave of breath passed in between. Well, things definitely weren't going as planned… whatever that plan was.

He was vaguely wondering whether he'd get on Arthur's good side if he started to make breakfast when soft padding noises from the top gained his attention; looking up, the American found the older country glaring down at him. His pale green pinstriped pajamas covered with a maroon robe that was tied around his waist as fluffy house slippers covered the man's feet.

"And what in the Queen's name are you still doing here?" England asked icily.

"I told you I was visiting remember?" Alfred replied, biting his tongue to restrain himself from adding 'or are you getting too old to remember?'. Even though he honestly thought that England was cute when he was mad, he was not about to push his luck when he was technically one mistake away from being kicked out of the house. So he just burrowed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and smiled innocently.

"How long do you plan to stay over?" England finally strained to ask after long seconds of silence, making his way down the stairs one step at a time.

"A week," America answered, "I've already placed my luggage in my old room."

Lips twitching and hands clenching, the green-eyed man closed his eyes for a moment and let out a calming breath. Looking at the younger nation's earnest face, the Briton finally disregarded the fact that the other country had most probably gone through all the other rooms in his house without permission. Taking another step down the stairs, the sandy-blonde man stated, "I'll give you two days to stay here."

"Eh?" Alfred pouted. "But  _Arthur_  I wanna stay here for a week!"

"This is my house you ignorant prat, so I decide," England pointed out, arms still crossed. "Two days."

"Five days?" the American suggested.

"Two." The house owner snapped back.

"Four, then?"

"No."

"Three days, take it or leave it?"

"How 'bout  _you_  leave  _right now_?" Arthur stated menacingly.

"Three days it is!" the blue-eyed nation concluded happily. "Thanks England! Now off to breakfast!" And with that, the taller man trotted off towards the kitchen.

Forest green orbs blinked, mouth agape, and disbelief painted on the thick-browed face. "What the bloody – Alfred, you git, get back here!" With that, the Englishman took after his previous colony.

"Hey England, what would you like for breakfast?" Alfred immediately asked when his once-colonizer's form appeared through the doorway. The bespectacled man was holding the refrigerator door open, peering inside for foodstuff to cook.

His supposed sermon lost at the other's abrupt question, England scoffed before he walked over to the taller man. "Hash browns?" the choppy-haired nation proposed, eyeing the box in the chiller section.

"I guess that's okay," the American conceded. "Hm, what else? Oh! I can make omelets, you like those, right?"

"Depends," Arthur muttered, reaching into the refrigerator looking for ingredients to add into the proposed omelet.

"Hey, there's sweet ham in there!" America stated seeing the older nation pull out a packet of the aforementioned food. "And surely you've got cheese stacked somewhere in there… Ham and cheese omelet, England?"

"S'pose that's fine," the shorter man relented, passing the box of hash browns and cheese to the ash-blonde man as he held the packet of sweet ham and got out a carton of eggs, the refrigerator door swinging shut as he left it.

Setting down the victuals on the kitchen counter, America went over to the kitchen sink and washed his hands, England following his actions. The once pirate-nation was frankly surprised at his previous colony's sudden non-juvenile ways. Even volunteering to cook breakfast… well, maybe that's just because it was a well-known fact that the Briton's culinary skills were… somewhat lacking. Still, it made the green-eyed man feel… at ease… It was like  _those_  days once again.

The two nations then began to make breakfast, America taking charge of the food whilst England began brewing tea. Suspiciously enough, the bespectacled nation had agreed to drink tea that morning, instead of requesting for his coffee like usual. Breakfast had been a silent affair, both countries consuming their rations in silence.

"Say, England," America suddenly piped up from the now-clear dining table.

"Hn?" the nation in question replied to indicate that he was listening. The sandy-haired blonde currently had his back turned to the ash-blonde country, seeing as he had taken it upon himself to wash the dishes. No good host would allow his guest to do the cleaning, after all.

"I was just wondering," blue eyes shone with hope as the American leaned forward on the table. "Wanna go out today?"

England paused in mute surprise at the proposition before carrying on with his work. "What for?" he asked stiffly.

"No reason," shrugged the other. "It's just… it's been a while since we went out…"

"Hn." Too true, the Englishman thought to himself. Lately, both of them had been quite busy, managing the economy, setting up projects, solving world problems and whatnot. Everything was so hectic nowadays.

"So what do you say?" America prompted, the small flame of hope still burning within him.

"You know that Sundays are my rest days, Alfred," Arthur spoke, putting all the clean plates on a rack for them to air-dry. He then grabbed a hand towel hanging nearby and wiped off his wet hands before replacing the cloth back in its rack.

"Doesn't mean you'd have to stay cooped up in the house," the blue-eyed man retorted, pushing back his chair and standing up. "Come on, it's bright and sunny outside! Let's go out today, okay, England?"

The older man only shook his head as he walked past the taller country. "Honestly, I don't think–" the Briton's statement was cut off when strong arms suddenly encircled his waist, pulling him backwards.

"Please, Arthur?" America pleaded in a rather small voice, hugging the other nation against his chest, his cheek resting atop the choppy locks of sandy-blonde hair.

The Briton's green eyes blinked at the familiar arms that rested around his abdomen, wondering quietly when those hands had become so big. Sighing, the smaller nation leaned back into the embrace. He would always have a soft spot for the man behind him, whether he wanted it or not. Slowly, he reached out his hands and placed them atop the taller nation's on his waist, holding the larger hands tightly.

"Arthur?" America's breath ruffled his hair, his voice sounding concerned.

"…"

"Is that a 'yes'?" the ash-blonde man asked, returning the other's hold.

"… Bloody fine…" the Englishman muttered.

"That's great!" Alfred said excitedly, giving the man in his arms a squeeze before releasing his hold. He then turned up at England's right side, grabbed the man's hand and proceeded to drag the other up the wooden staircase. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's get you dressed up!"

"I can get dressed by myself, you blasted man!" Arthur exclaimed, feeling quite put off. Still, there were no sign of visible effort from him trying to free his hand from the taller man's grasp. "I have been doing so for centuries!"

"Sure, sure!" the bespectacled man replied easily, grinning widely as he yanked open the door to England's bedroom. He stopped right in front of the armoire, pulling open the mahogany doors to reveal the older nation's set of neatly stacked clothes. "Now what do you wear…" America wondered idly, eyeing the endless stack of pressed shirts and sweater vests.

"Don't you dare touch my clothing!" England snapped, swatting away the younger country's hand when it showed the slightest sign of reaching out for his clothes.

Bright blue eyes blinked before the smile on his lips widened. "Okay, okay, I get it… No touchy." Alfred said, raising both hands as though in surrender.

"Hmph." The Briton nodded and he proceeded to pick out his clothes, which consisted of a pale purple shirt, a white sweater vest and loose black slacks. Closing the armoire doors, England turned to his companion. "I'll be taking a quick shower and  _you_  better change clothes."

"Why?" America looked at himself, trying to see what the other found wrong in his getup. He had a graphic gray t-shirt on, his usual bomber jacket, faded jeans and tennis shoes. "I mean what for? I already look awesome!"

"You bloody well  _don't_ ," England furrowed his brows. "Don a better attire if you're serious about going out."

"Aw, but England, it's just a date," the American put on his best smile in hopes of convincing the other.

"It's a  _date_  with  _me_ ," forest green eyes flared as the shorter man raised a finger. "So. Dress. Up. Properly." He punctuated each word with a poke on the ash-blonde man's chest. Contented, the Briton marched off towards the adjoined bathroom and locked the door behind him.

Smiling lopsidedly, Alfred stood up straight and raised his right hand in mock salute. "Got it, sweetheart!"

"DON'T CALL ME SWEETHEART!" came an Englishman's (dignified) shriek from the bathroom.

America chuckled, surprised that the older man had actually heard him. "I'll go get changed then!" He excused himself, going out of the bedroom.

England was beautiful to watch when he's asleep, but it was certainly no where as interesting as when the nation was awake. But, awake or not, America was pretty sure one thing would never change: He loves him. Definitely.


End file.
